


Midgar Blues

by Eucalyptusace



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drabble, Gen, This should be expanded into a full-sized fic in the future, Tifa seen sum sheeit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eucalyptusace/pseuds/Eucalyptusace
Summary: Small drabble musing over how Tifa spent the five years we never see in Midgar before starting the game.





	Midgar Blues

The first year in the city was spent searching for a purpose. Tif was injured and spent some time trying to get back on her feet. It was two years after she was dumped in the dirty slums that she finally lost her limp. The scar ran from her collarbone to her abdomen and required stitches and upkeep to aid the healing process. She discovered that showers and steam relaxed her muscles and took away the discomfort, but for the most part she ached regularly, suffering from mental exacerbations of her physical ailment. She was brought to the hospital initially, but her recently deceased father had no time to leave her any inheritance, so she was without any money to afford extensive care. She was forced out of the institution and onto the street. 

At first, she was not alone, but her teacher could not stay in the city to look after her, instead promising to reach out long distance should she be in any real emergency. She was resentful and directed her bitterness toward productivity. She was small and pretty, and immediately was offered a job at a questionable nightclub that promised stability. Most importantly it was a place to spend the night out of the elements. She made connections at this club, and first heard the name of a man named Rain who was growing in infamy amongst the slums for his revolutionary ideas. This anti-establishment discourse appealed to Tif who lost her life to the greed of corporations, and she harbored the resentment inside her and told herself each night that things would get better. She never met the man who ran the club, but she became close to a fellow server named Strawberry who told her all the stories and rumors and became a real friend to her in the first year of work. They were two pretty girls who served together, and Tif came more into her body and matured. Strawberry grew to become jealous of her and began to sabotage her, turning the others girls against her as well with fierce rumors of fraternization. Tif grew nervous and felt unwell every day, crying herself to sleep on her slab of a bed, rats gnawing away at her few belongings. She didn’t have a place to run to, any people who might take her in.

A year and a half went by, and Tif spent her 17th birthday alone, wandering the upper sector. A group of men saw her before she could see them, and the bottle of whiskey in her hand invited them to take a closer look. It had been years since Tif had constructively improved her meager kickboxing skills, and she was overtaken easily. The men, there were four or five of them, ripped her apart, landing bruises on every inch of her skin, squeezing her breasts until they throbbed, entering her so ferociously she felt like her bones were broken. Nobody rescued her, and when they finished, Tif could only lay there until the morning. She never went back to her job, never saw Strawberry again. She had no money and took her clothes from trash bags. She spent her days hiding inside an oversized coat, skinny as a bird, flirting for food. A year she spent unproductively, fighting the urge to end her life, alone and broken and hungry.

An older man who went by the name of Stahl found her in the pharmacy slurping down cold soup and asked her if she ever bartended. He felt bad for her and had a job opening. Stahl was surprised by Tif’s attitude, grateful and sweet, contrasting her sorry image, but figured it was a good match. She was 18 and started at Seventh Heaven as a barmaid. Stahl gave her the first living wage she ever had, and so she spent the time and peace of mind she had newly acquired going to the gym. She convinced herself to be hard or else she would not survive in this hell. She gained a lot of weight and felt strong, slowly getting muscle and confidence. She was thankful for Stahl, but also wary of him, who tended to put her down in a crowd after having too much to drink. It did not bother her, or at least she would not let it get to her. She could bench 150 pounds, and she would rather be chubby than skinny as a bird. One night, after she turned 19, she was closing up the bar and Stahl came to her stumbling over his big feet. He said rent was going up, and now there was something extra she needed to give him in order to stay in his establishment. She punched him hard in the gut, and he fell backwards, choking on his tongue. She dragged the poor bastard to his bed and continued to close up the bar, taking time to make sure everything was sparkling clean. The next morning, Stahl was dead in a puddle of vomit, and Tif could not bring herself to feel anything. People were talking all through the slum, suspecting her of greed and wanting the place to herself, and others were convinced that the old man had it coming because of the way he always spoke down to her. Nonetheless business did not take much of a hit, and Tif felt liberated, but was once again in her life completely alone. 

It was only shortly after that she noticed a group of people who had become regulars were speaking heatedly about rebellion, and the phrases they used were just like the ones used by Rain that had stayed in Tif’s heart from all those years ago. She took the chance to initiate herself in their group and hear their ideas, inviting them to consider her bar a home base. For the second time since coming to the city, she felt the bubbling resentment deep inside her, and she knew that she finally had an outlet for it, a reason to keep fighting, a purpose. When she celebrated her 20th birthday, she had friends to wish her well and support her feelings. It was still not until she found her old friend that she found a connection to her past and the potential to move forward. Her friend, this scraggly guy with dirty blond hair, sick and on the brink of death, not knowing anything, gave Tif an anchor. She refused to acknowledge how desperate she had become. 


End file.
